Don't Tell
by Witchdoctr
Summary: Quillish Whammy is a teacher. He notices the pale, crazy haired, baggy eyed kid in the backrow. He also notices the bruises. Angst ,loads of really heavy angst. AU. Child Abuse. Second Fanfic, so be gentle.
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from Death Note. I don't gain any profit by this. DAMN! **

**Reason:I have no idea. I was bored. ****Don't kill me. This is my second fanfiction and since the first sucked, I'm trying to make this one better.**

**POV:Quillish "Watari" Whammy and L Lawliet, age fourteen. **

Watari sighed. He was bored of teaching. This was a temporary job and he'd thought he'd enjoy this new occupation. He didn't. Kids here were silly, preoccupied, and rambunctious. He could deal with the latter, but the silliness and stupid jokes were really getting to him. He worked with kids a lot, but he worked with intelligent kids who were willing to learn. Intelligence wasn't an issue. He was a teacher after all and it was his job to teach after all. But he still wished the kids would focus.

Once again, he'd asked a question and none of the students even attempted to answer. They were too busy giggling over who was dating who or whatnot. He wondered why he even tried. His eyes drifted to the back of the room. A boy sat there. He was sitting strange. Perhaps that was why Watari's gaze was drawn to him. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his bare feet gripping the end of his chair. He had a blank stare, no emotion and his grey eyes stared straight ahead. But in them, Watari saw intelligence, understanding, boredom, pain. Pain?

Before he could be sure, the bell rang. The kids rushed out so fast it was insulting. Watari watched the boy slowly uncurl and walk out. He realized the boy was hunched over, head low. He was the last and as he passed, Watari saw a bruise on the boy's chin, just above his throat, right were it would be hard to see. Watari had sharp eyes. He also noticed a bruise on his temple that was cleverly hidden with abundant hair. "Stop," Watari said quietly. The boy did, turning back. "Yes, sir?" "Where'd you get those bruises?" Watari asked, voice clipped.

* * *

L stared at the teacher. He seemed almost worried? L had never had an adult who worried about him. Well maybe worried about how much money he cost, but never about his welfare. "Well? How'd you get them?" Now he sounded almost upset. "Um." How should he answer? That his father beat him and these bruises were two of many? That they had been punishment? That his father had been in a drunken rage and his brother had stood by while he hit his youngest son? That he had many burises on his back, chest, legs, arms, everywhere not visible? That there was a reason he wore long-sleeved white shirts and long jeans, never shorts?

"Um, I tripped and fell onto a table," L said. He was afraid. Afraid that this teacher was going to figure it out. He'd thought the bruises were concealed. Shit, that was a terrible lie. "A table? Quite a feat, two bruises and in very different and illogical places," Mr. Whammy said. "I tripped on the carpet and my head hit the table, my throat first, then my temple. But I'm fine, sir. I appreciate your concern. Excuse me, I'm late for class." L walked away from the teacher. Heart hammering in chest and creeping up into his throat. That had been close. And he had a feeling things were going to get closer.

* * *

Watari watched the boy walk. He hid a limp very well. What had happened? Why was the boy lying? The table story was convincing, at least, coming from the boy's mouth, but still illogical. It was hard to get a bruise on the neck by accident without snapping or breaking the neck completely. Watari sighed and wondered if he could trick the boy into telling. He had a feeling about this child. Intelligence, high above the normal standard, that much was clear. Anti-social, because kids don't like what they don't understand and he didn't find them worth his time. Hunched over with submission. Head hanging low, submission. Face blank.

Something was up.

And the kind-hearted inventor decided to play detective.


	2. 2

**Next chappie! For those angst lovers, I hope the angst is good enough. I've never written angst or torture, so this is the best I can do. **

L went home with much reluctance. He stayed afterschool as often as possible, as long as possible and anywhere as long as it wasn't home. But now he had to go home. And face his family. His father and brother were already home. Well, his father was always home since he didn't have a job and his mother was always working. And his brother might be home, provided he wasn't at a friend's house or something. Hmm. L would visit his friends as often as possible to avoid his father if he'd had any.

"Where were you?" his brother Elliot asked. He was the only person he didn't dread seeing. "Afterschool," L replied, hanging up his coat. Elliot nodded in understanding. "W-Where's Dad?" L asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, but failing. "He's on the couch. Be careful, L. He's drunk and in a bad mood." His father never picked on Elliot, probably because Elliot was a hard target. He was fast and could fight very well. He wouldn't hesitate to punch his father. He had once, unable to watch his brother in pain. He regretted it later. Any intervention on his part was met with continued violence, even worse than before. And not to him.

Said man grunted and sat up on the couch. His eyes were bloodshot as usual. He glared at the two boys. "Elliot, upstairs," he barked. Elliot paled. His eyes met his brother's. _Go _they said. _Leave or he'll hurt you too and I couldn't live with that. I'm older, _Elliot wanted to yell at him. _I should be taking the fall, not you. I can fight him. You won't even try. _

"I am pissed," Reg Lawliet mumbled, approaching L. L backed away instinctively. His back pressed against the wall and his father had him cornered. His hand gripped the boy's hair, twisting painfully and shoving the boy's face up into the light. "And you know what bothers me? You." He socked the boy in the stomach and L doubled over. He didn't have time to recover. Reg seized his neck and jerked it to the ground. L tried to stand up and was rewarded with a strong kick to his ribs. They burned as they were kicked again and again. L fell to his side, crying out as his ribs were jostled. Reg reached down and his hand found the boy's hair again and he yanked him up. "You and your pathetic yelps."

He backhanded L. His hand drew back into a punch and he slammed his fist in L's gut before, as an added measure, elbowing his face. Blood spurted from his nose. L was barely conscious now. He hung limply from his father's arm. "You're worthless, brainless, spawn from a whore of a mother." Reg hit his stomach again, this time where his lungs would be. L barely clung to consciousness, and he wished he wasn't. Reg shoved him into the wall. He seized the boy's head and beat it against the wall. L screamed as his broken nose was bashed again and again. His mouth was full of blood. Reg finally let go and L slid to the ground and onto his side, which burned. He couldn't find the will to move and breathing hurt. Reg kicked his face, slamming it into the wall again.

Reg lumbered away. L didn't move. He watched through hazy eyes as his tormentor went back to his couch and watched TV. L sighed in defeat and dropped his head down, With some worry, he realized he was lying in a pool of his own blood.

* * *

Watari watched L closely as he entered the classroom. He looked the same as yesterday, but something about the way he stood clenched at Watari's heart. He was hunched over, as usual, but he moved gingerly as if his movements hurt. He had new bruises, but barely noticeable. His nose was crooked, maybe broken, and another bruise on his head again covered with wild hair. There was also a very vibrant purple bruise on his cheek. Watari noted these changes and they worried him. Something was very wrong.

He taught the lesson without really thinking about it, not like the kids were really thinking either, and again watched L walk from the room. He made a snap decision. As soon as the kids had all cleared out, he approached the boy. "Sir, I really don't have time. I have to go to eighth period," L said. "I'll write you a pass. When did you get this bruise?" Watari asked and against his will, found his hand reaching for L's cheek and stroking the bruise gently. Noting the shiver going through the boy and the way his head bowed even lower in submission before jerking away. L stared at him with frightened eyes and turned and ran away.

* * *

L packed his bag glumly. There were no late buses today and he had to go home. Someone slammed his locker shut and he withdrew his hands hastily. "Hey porcelain." He winced, knowing who it was. Harvey Dennt. A bully. Who, like his father, enjoyed seeing him in pain. Normally he harassed him while they were walking home, but it looked like Harvey was bored today. "Whatcha doing? Being a freak?" Harvey sneered and he shoved L into a locker. L screamed as his ribs smacked against the locker. Harvey pressed harder, pinning the other boy to the locker and eliciting another scream.

Harvey saw,out of the corner of his eye, a teacher approaching. He dropped L, who leaned against the locker with eyes shut and lips trembling. Harvey ran, knowing the freak wouldn't tell.

Watari heard the scream. He ran from his room and to the source of it. It was L Lawliet, the kid he wanted to investigate. He was leaning against his locker, eyes shut tightly. His hands clutched his chest and he was breathing heavily, face screwed up in pain. "L! Are you okay?"

* * *

L winced at the voice. Mr. Whammy. He couldn't see him in pain or he would suspect. Perhaps he already did. He forced himself up and smiled weakly at Mr. Whammy. "Hi, sir. No everything's fine." "Why were you screaming?" Mr. Whammy asked. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. Please accept my apologies," L said bluntly and picking up his bag, walked away from the teacher.

Watari did notice how his shoulders shook and his breathing was ragged. And how at that last second, he bolted. Watari stood for a few seconds, staring at the still swinging doors before running into his room, which had perfect view of the school yard. He watched the clearly injured boy run, jump over the bushes, veer away from the school bus line. Wait, away? He was running in completely the other direction. Why?

L couldn't go home, not now. And he couldn't stay after school, so he ran.

It was temporary, this freedom, temporary this brief jubilation, temporary his ecstasy and running feet, temporary his life. Temporary. It would all end when, eventually, he would have to go home.

Then his life would end.

Figuratively.

And maybe literally.

**Please REVIEW OR I AM GOING TO GO INSANE!**


	3. 3

L limped in his room, no longer hiding it. His head was very low, hair hiding his face. Watari knew that that was a bad sign, but said nothing. During the whole class period. L refused to look up. His chin was all Watari saw. Every second he didn't see the boy's face, the more anxious he grew to see it. Watari taught without thinking. He wasn't even bothered by the fact that no one was listening and were passing notes. He didn't blink when the bell rang and the kids rushed passed him. He noted L stiffly unfolding his body and standing up gingerly. "L?"

L heard Mr. Whammy say his name and tensed. _Don't ask me to look up. Don't make me look up, please._

"L are you okay?" "Absolutely, sir. Thanks for asking," L sighed quietly. "Look at me," Mr. Whammy ordered. L didn't and his shoulders trembled. "L, look at me!" Whammy exclaimed. His hand darted out and he seized L's chin gently, pulling up his face to the light. And he gasped.

He had a black eye and another bruise on his other cheek, but this one bigger and more swollen than the other. L whimpered as he fingered the bruises. "Tell me. Now."

L sighed. "My-my father, okay?" Inwardly he swore. What the hell? Why would he just blurt out his secret so easily? That he was pathetic? That he was so useless and worthless to his father as anything but a punching bag?

"It is not okay," Watari almost yelled. "What did he do to you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" L asked dryly. "He hit me."

"How long? How often?"

"I won't tell you unless you promise not to tell."

"But someone needs to know."

"No one needs to know. Don't tell."

Gray eyes met blue. "I promise. How often?"

"Every night. For the last few years."

It was so awkward, so tense, so long, he had to run. Again. Running was something he always did. He didn't think it was cowardly, not at all, just another...option. His life was full of them. Option 1) stay and take the shame of being an open failure to Mr. Whammy and then have his father find out and beat him to the pulp. Option 2) run and hope Whammy didn't tell anyone. Option 3) stay and mutter goodbye and walk away slowly and not be seen as a sensitive nutcase.

He chose option two. But it wasn't the best option in his opinion. Adults were unreliable.


	4. 4

The next day, Watari was worried. L hadn't come to school. That couldn't be good. He had an abusive father and staying home wasn't a good way to avoid him. When L didn't come in the next day or the day after that, Watari began to panic. He began to have nightmares of L dying or being beaten. His visions, he feared, were close to the truth. And they were bloody visions.

He called the office and asked what his excuse for missing school. His excuse was family trouble and Watari had a very bad feeling, a feeling that the family wasn't having trouble, but the trouble _was _the family. He then looked up L's name in the student directory and found his address. Then, hardening his resolve and not breaking his promise not to tell, he drove to the Lawliets house. He knocked on the door. A man answered. Watari could tell instantly that this was the brute, L's father. He was short, but broad. He was bald, with a flat nose on his wide and flabby face, and his icy brown eyes portrayed cruelty. What was worse, if possible, was his meaty hand clutching the hair of L Lawliet. Watari swallowed and chose to ignore the panicked look L gave him. Not so much ignore as keep his eyes fixed firmly on the brute's eyes.

"I am Mr. Quillish Whammy. I am here to make inquiries for Mr. L Lawliet," Watari said, making his voice crisp and stern. He noticed the visible reddening of the man's face and his fist curling tighter around L's hair. Pain flashed in the boy's eyes, but he made no noise. "Well, you see him. Thanks for stopping by." Reg Lawliet tried to shut the door, but Watari stopped him. He glanced at L. His face was the same, but his hair smelt like blood. Watari wrinkled his nose and was going to make an inquiry, but Reg swatted his hand away from the door. "Leave me be or I'll call the cops!" Watari wanted to yell, "Good!" but one frantic look from L was enough to send him on his way. Not home, definitely not.

* * *

As soon as Mr. Whammy left and the door swung shut, L gave a sigh of relief. He didn't have long to be relieved.

He was shoved to the ground, the fingers in his hair yanking out a chunk. He felt blood trickle down his head, but as soon as he raised his head, Reg kicked his face. He rolled and smacked into the wall. L tried to stand up, but his hands were crushed as Reg stomped with all his might on them. L would've howled if Reg hadn't thoughtfully shoved a towel into L's mouth just before he could make a noise. From the ground, he could see Mr. Whammy leaving, and he shed a tear. Then was ashamed.

Reg pulled him up by the throat. "You told, didn't you? This means punishment," he swore. L spat out the gag. "I didn't tell, I swear," L muttered, knowing his father wouldn't believe him or find an excuse to be angry. "You swear? Well, now, you're going to have to die. Or your brother. One of you will watch the other brother die in agony. Who shall it be?" "Leave Elliot alone," L whispered. "He's not here anyway. I guess I get to watch you die," Reg muttered to himself. "But I want it drawn out." L barely had time to worry about this, or even fight before it actually began. Wherever Elliot was, he was spared the sight of his death, and for that, he was grateful. His brother would surely try to interfere and die in the action.

For the next hour, Reg prepared for his death. L didn't try to escape, only because his father swore to kill Elliot if he did. Reg kissed his throat. L shivered. And yelped in pain as Reg bit into the skin. He bit hard enough to bruise and eventually to bleed. He beat him, breaking his arm and leg by stomping on both. L received a black eye and more colorful bruises to match. His eye was swollen painfully shut. His throat was sore from his father's bizarre bites. His arm and leg were in agony. Reg also shoved a nail into his throat, aiming carefully for somewhere that would hurt, but not kill his son. He found it and the rusty nail was now jabbed in his throat. He slit the boy's wrists and cut into various other places, enjoying the look of intense pain on his son's face. As his son became pale and dying Reg was about to squeeze L's leg when someone knocked on the door. Ferociously.

Reg, thinking quick, picked up his child, and shoved him into a bedroom closet, making sure to lock it. L was only just barely conscious and he didn't react when the door shut.

"Police! Open the door!" Reg opened it. Watari was there with them, looking furious. "Where is L?" he asked. "I dunno. He's probably afterschool or something." Watari seized the man's shoulder and shoved him into a wall. "LIAR! You had him seconds ago. WHERE IS HE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?" Suddenly, Reg's face lit up. "He's dead now. You've lost. He's dead or dying. Either way, he's history." Watari was forgiven for what he did next. He punched the sadistic pyschopath so hard, Reg fell to the ground, unconscious. "If he was speaking the truth, we need to find him," Watari said, voice bordering on panic. The police officers nodded and began searching. "Perhaps it would've been better to leave him conscious and asked him," one of them said.

L wanted to yell to say that he was here, but he couldn't find the strength. He could only croak out, "Mr. Whammy." The blood loss was getting to his head, weakening him. It was beginning to seep under the crack of the door. Which was how the police officer found him.

The police officer entered the room and saw the pool of blood. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He broke it, kicking it fiercely until there was a snap and the door swung open. "I found him! Where's the ambulance?" Watari was there in a flash. "The door was locked, Mr Whammy," the police officer said. Watari leaned down and picked the child up. He seemed ridiculously light. Watari felt tears fall down his face. The boy looked so heart-breaking.

There were even more bruises, but there was worse. There was a bald spot where his hair had been violently torn out. There were bruises that looked like bite-marks on his neck and he had a swollen black eye. His arm and leg were bloody, twisted and agnozing to look at, much less feel. His wrists were slit and many other parts of his body were as well. Watari applied pressure to each one, trying to staunch it. No success.

L was vaguely aware of someone yelling in his ear to hold on, but he was slipping. He couldn't help it. He didn't feel anything anymore and perhaps that was best. L drifted away. The last thing he heard was someone screaming, "Don't go! Come back, L!" How he wished he could.


	5. Chapter 5

**So this was sloppy and bad, I know, but it was fun to write (I'm crazy, I know). Please comment. I need comments to know you're reading my stuff. Oh man, I've just read what I've written. Man, I'm sadistic. **

When he woke up, everything hurt, everything ached, everything burned. Was the ceiling spinning?

"Easy there."

L registered the voice, but he didn't listen and he sat up. Mistake. If he hurt before, it was nothing compared to now. Everything nerve was sensitive, on fire, and screaming at him, begging him to lay down again. But his willpower was stronger, and he was slightly masochistic, so remained sitting up. "Who are you?" L asked, slightly worried. "Where am I?" He glanced around and answered his own question. Hospital. What happened? Immediately his body throbbed, reminding him of... everything.

That was it. That was the breaking point. He fell back on his bed again, not caring about the police officer (L knew he was a police officer by his uniform), not caring about showing his emotions, something he'd repressed for so long. Tears dripped from his eyes, trickling down to the tip of his nose and dropping into his lap. He cried miserably, and mutely for a good thirty seconds. Then he realized something else.

Why? Why was he crying? If the police officer was here, then his father must've been arrested. His father would never touch him again, not if the system was around, the police and rule of law system, and L believe firmly in the system. If he didn't have the system, then what did he have? A mother who couldn't care less about him and a brother sympathized, but didn't do anything. What did he have? Himself. That was all he needed. He didn't need to rely on anyone, or anything. If he didn't need anyone, than the only one he relied on was himself.

And he would never let himself down.

But it wasn't all about him. L thought of the other people, the people who'd suffered as he had. He didn't want anyone to suffer, not at the hands of Injustice's cruel grip. He didn't. He didn't.

A passion rose up inside of him, burning through his blood, but not painfully. It strengthened him, steadied him, gave him something strong to grip on. Justice. Justice. He wanted to do something. He wanted to be someone, to do something to fight people like his father and to stand up for Justice. Oh sure, there were people who stood up for justice but they were the police, unorganized and unintelligent and ineffective. Someone had to help Justice, someone competent.

It might as well be him.

Now first thing was first, where was Mr. Whammy?

He was going to get out and he was going to be Justice. And he needed Mr. Whammy to do it.


End file.
